


moments

by ab82



Series: moments [1]
Category: Scream (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-10 23:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 16,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7866154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab82/pseuds/ab82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>snapshots from audrey's season one interactions with emma, through audrey's eyes. </p><p>(aka the one where i'm an angsty piece of crap who re-writes every moment audrey had with emma in S1 and adds as much emotional pain to it as possible, because why not)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the video

**Author's Note:**

> 99% of dialogue credit goes to MTV. These characters are not my own. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy :)

For Audrey Jensen, it’s a typical Monday night — half-hearted “multitasking” (if that’s what texting Rachael nonstop while attempting to finish the APUSH assignment she’d had for a week could be called), The Neighbourhood’s latest album playing in the background, and a giant thermos of iced coffee by her side. Midterms are coming up, although the typical Lakewood heat would never clue anyone into the fact that it’s actually October (she and Noah have theorized that this ever-present heat is because Lakewood is actually Hell in disguise), and Audrey knows she’s got to come out with as many As as possible, even if Trigonometry is a struggle. She’ll never get into a good film school with the grades she’s got from freshman year right now, so sophomore year _has_ to be impressive. 

 

And maybe she’s not the happiest person in the world — she’s still in the closet, and her father tries to drag her to Youth Group every Sunday, even though it should be obvious to him that her leather-jacketed self is way too different from the candy-colored cardigan girls and boat shoes guys to ever fit in — but she’s fine. She’s used to this routine. She can do this.

 

Then Noah texts her.  ** Hey, wanna come over? YouTube’s down and I need a source of entertainment. (Not saying that you’re my second choice… You know you’re my first, but midterms obviously gotta take priority.)  ** And Audrey’s about to laugh and reply with a resounding yes, but then she re-reads the text and realizes that there’s something off. She knows for a fact that YouTube isn’t down, because she’s got three tabs of APUSH review videos open right now — so Noah’s either lying or confused, and the latter is far less likely than the former. But why would Noah want to lie about something as trivial as YouTube?

 

So Audrey opens YouTube in another tab, just to double-check that it’s not really down, and _nope_ , it’s running perfectly. She goes to text Noah and ask him what’s actually going on, but then something in the “Trending” section catches her eye. There’s a grainy thumbnail of what appears to be two girls kissing, uploaded by someone called “GW eyez”, and Audrey’s about to turn away, stomach turning in sympathy for the poor souls who have been stalked and outed by one of Lakewood’s resident mean girls — until she sees the title. _Audrey’s FACE SUCK EXTRAVAGANZA_. The temperature in her room seems to drop fifty degrees in the three seconds it takes her to read it. 

 

Against her better judgement, Audrey clicks on the video, and she’s instantly grateful that her father’s still writing his sermon at the church, because the air instantly fills with the sound of quiet moaning. For a second, she actually wonders if someone’s just uploaded lesbian porn and tried to slap her name on it. But then her eyes center on the screen, the fuzzy shot finally coming into focus, and it’s all her worst nightmares coming into play. Because she’s just been _outed_ , not just to her entire high school but also to all of YouTube, and apparently, 1,000 people have already seen this, the view count increasing with every second that Audrey stares at it. 

 

So this is what Noah was trying to protect her from, by saying that YouTube was down and then having her come over to his place so he could distract her. He’s sweet, and Audrey knows that he meant well, but she can’t help but feel a little angry in this moment. He wasn’t going to _tell her_? He was just going to let the video permeate the computer screens of Lakewood without saying a single word? Or would he have told her at his house, where he could’ve been there to help her deal with her fury and maybe give her something to throw at the wall? It’s impossible to know for sure, but as Audrey dials a number on her phone, she realizes she’s not calling Noah. She’s calling _Emma_.

 

Instantly, she panics and presses “hang up” as many times as possible, then drops the phone and curses herself for being so stupid. She hasn’t talked to Emma in _months_. They haven’t been friends since halfway through freshman year, when everybody had already discovered how gorgeous Emma had become and Nina had welcomed the girl into her friend group with open arms. When Emma stopped answering their nightly phone calls, a ritual they’d had since they both got their first cell phones in sixth grade, it became clear to Audrey that she was no longer important to the other girl. Their picnics at Wren Lake and Friday movie nights had been replaced by keg stands at Nina’s and Saturday shopping sprees. It had hurt, _a lot_ , but losing Emma had led to an incredible bond with Noah, so Audrey figured that maybe it was just how things were meant to be. (Or at least, that’s what she likes to tell herself. She knows it’s probably not true.)

 

But in this moment, she misses Emma more than ever. Noah’s great, but he doesn’t quite understand the extent of Audrey’s history with these people, the mean girls of George Washington High School; they’ve been teasing her and trying to make her life miserable since middle school, and she and Noah didn’t meet until eighth grade. Emma was there for it all, every gym uniform theft and dirty look, went with her to the AT&T store when she had to change her number to stop the constant barrage of cruel texts. Things had calmed down a little bit after Emma left her side — maybe people felt it wasn’t fair that such a pretty girl was friends with someone like her, maybe _that_ was what had caused all the bullying — so Audrey’s not used to not having Emma with her for something as major as this. The video is by far the worst thing Nina (because she _knows_ it’s Nina; it has to be her, who else would do this?) has ever done to her, and Emma’s not here to help her cope. And suddenly, Audrey’s having to blink back tears, something she hasn’t done in months, because it takes a _lot_ to make her cry but it makes all too much sense that Emma would fit perfectly under the definition of “a lot” for her.

 

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, resisting the urge to throw her thermos at the wall or put a hole in her computer screen, and instead picks her phone up off the floor and dials the other number she knows by heart. “Hey, Rach. Make sure you’re dressed. I’ll be over in fifteen. I need to see you tonight.” 


	2. the invite

It’s been two days since the video, Nina’s dead, and Audrey’s world is… _off-kilter_ , to say the least. Noah’s fucking enthralled by it all, of course; he’s spent his time analyzing every word out of Sheriff Hudson’s mouth and discussing Tyler’s possible mental disorders over Taco Tuesday. Audrey, on the other hand, is not so enthralled. Not that she’s had time to be, because she’s actually been grounded since her father was sent the video by several scandalized parishioners, but it’s frustrating, in a way, to see Noah so excited by all of this, while she just gets stared at in the hallway and has an inbox full of homophobic slurs. Things have died down a little, though, what with the “heartbreak” (Audrey uses that word sparingly when it comes to Nina) surrounding the murder and everybody being wrapped up in their own theories about Tyler’s motive and current location. And that’s been good; it’s given her a second to breathe, and also to make sure that Rachael is okay. Which she’s not. In fact, Audrey’s pretty sure she’s going to be checking the other girl’s arms more than once this week (and _that_ is just one reason of many as to why she’s not particularly devastated by Nina’s passing). 

 

It’s Wednesday. Soon enough, it’ll be the weekend; that’s what Audrey has to remind herself as she walks through the courtyard and passes by Nina’s group. Jake Fitzgerald’s been eyeing her nonstop since the video came out, so walking through there isn’t exactly ideal without Noah by her side, but he’s got a meeting with his comp-sci teacher this morning, and Audrey isn’t about to change her route and be late for Language Arts (as much as she hates that class, a detention probably won’t sit well with her father right now). 

 

Then Emma walks up to her, all bright-eyed and vibrant, saying, “Hey, Audrey” like it hasn’t been months since they last spoke, and Audrey suddenly forgets how to breathe. The stronger part of her, the side that’s always bitter and angry and aching for a fight, yells at her to _turn around, walk away, be late for Language Arts if you have to, don’t give in to Emma’s fake niceties_ , but Emma Duval has always been a weakness for her and today is no exception. So Audrey stops in her tracks and plays along.

 

“Hi. Emma,” she says, cautiously, the name feeling strange on her tongue when she hasn’t allowed herself to say it in so long. Even with Noah, she’s just called her ex-best friend “She Who Shall Not Be Named,” and she’s not sure whether that’s because she doesn’t want to accept how the name still makes her heart pound or if it’s because she wants to keep up the illusion that she hates someone she actually still loves. 

 

Emma hesitates for a moment, like she’s holding herself back, and Audrey can definitely relate to that — she’s got a thousand things that want to spill from her mouth right now, mainly things like _why did you abandon me?_ and _why talk to me now when we haven’t talked in months?_ , and it’s hard to not just open the floodgates and let it all pour out in a thunderstorm of hurt and blame. But this isn’t a movie, and Audrey knows if she does that, she’s not gonna be the cool, awesome, badass one who opens Emma’s eyes to what a bitch she was freshman year; she’s just going to come off as weak and pathetic, and considering she’s the most vulnerable she’s ever been right now, that’s probably not a great idea.

 

“Uh, do you want to come to a party tonight?” The words are hurried and uneasy, and Audrey’s just as shocked to be hearing them as Emma seems to be saying them. She’s pictured this scenario playing out in her head a thousand times, but she’d never imagined it would come true. “Brooke’s having a send-off for Nina with booze,” Emma continues, flashing that crooked smile Audrey came to love so long ago. “An Irish wake kind of thing.” And yup, there it is, the flash of nerdy humor that used to make Emma weird and awkward, but now labels her as “cute” and “different”. Audrey hates that; they didn’t want to accept that when she wasn’t pretty enough for them to stare at in the hallways, but now that Emma’s fit for their own consumption, her intelligence is suddenly hot. It’s disgusting.

 

“I’m kind of grounded,” she shoots back, unable to stop the snark that slips into her voice.“There was this video that went around. It’s okay. You saw it. Everyone saw it. I know.” Emma looks uncomfortable at this, and Audrey feels just a _little_ bad for putting her in a weird position; it’s probably got to be a little awkward when your ex-best friend mentions the video of her making out with another girl that your dead best friend turned into a viral hit, right? _Hey, bitterness, could you take a break for a second? Kind of trying not to ruin my second chance here._

 

Emma swallows hard and says, “Well, it, uh, starts at 9:00 out at Wren Lake. I mean, you can bring whoever you want.” Oh, perfect. A party with the bosom buddies of the girl who outed her, _and_ it’s at her and Emma’s old spot. Sounds like a real joy.

 

Sensing the discomfort that’s probably practically radiating off of Audrey, Emma adds quickly, “But no pressure. Maybe I’ll see you there.” She bites her lip and lets out a little nervous laugh, what she always did when she really wanted something but was too scared to ask for it outright, and now Audrey _knows_ without a doubt that her sad ass is going to this party. _Fuck._


	3. the pool

So of course she invites Noah along, because there’s no way in hell she’d ever make it through this party/send-off/Irish wake/whatever the fuck it is without him, and in their first two minutes there she manages to fuck things up exponentially, because hey she’s _Audrey Jensen and that’s just what she does_ (or so Nina and her crew liked to say). After making her presence known and snatching that bottle of tequila off the table, Audrey had wandered out to the pool, Noah following close behind. He’d stayed for a few minutes to calm her down, but he’d gotten distracted by Riley and quickly asked her permission to wander off — and Audrey had let him, because hey, he deserved a chance or he might be The Virgin™ forever.

 

Now she’s bored, so she’s got her camera out, filming all the disgustingly sexually active jocks and cheerleaders in her line of sight, bottle of tequila still untouched by her side. If Noah’s not back in twenty minutes, she’ll probably have that emptied and her SD card filled by the end of the night. 

 

But of course, because Emma is here and Emma is _Emma_ , she hears the rustle of fabric by her side and looks up to see her ex-best friend standing there, wearing a slightly-gaudy skirt and a pretty braid in her hair like they’re back in fourth grade. How Audrey wishes that were the case. Also accessorizing Emma’s outfit is a hopeful little smile that she immediately throws Audrey’s way, and well, she’s a sucker for that and gives her one right back. The blonde girl sits down by the edge of the pool — not too close, of course, but close enough that it still makes Audrey uncomfortable — and puts her feet in, watching as Audrey adjusts the camera slightly to get a decent shot.

 

“Are you getting anything good?” Emma asks. Audrey knows she’s probably not really interested, but that’s just how Emma is — always so polite, so sweet, even when she doesn’t have to be. Ever since they were little, the girl has always played into others’ interests and made sure to ask about them in quiet moments, maybe cuz she knows that it just makes people fall in love with her even more. And Audrey wants to say, _you don’t have to be nice,_ but she feels like that’s already the unspoken theme of their conversation. Emma _was_ doing something nice by inviting her here, and Audrey’s already shown the world what an act of charity that was by being so awkward with her arrival. 

 

So she decides to just make a joke out of it. “Yeah, it’s great, actually. It’s like an STD cautionary tale.” And she can’t help it — she smiles, because Emma’s laughing _with_ her, not at her, and she hasn’t seen the other girl do that in a long time.

 

And then, well, Audrey Jensen decides to do something very stupid. To be fair, it’s not really a conscious decision — it’s more of an instinct, the leftovers of what was once a good friendship, the ghost of something that used to feel _natural_ and _easy_ and _right_. She grabs her camera and swings it Emma’s way. “Hey,” she says softly, directing the girl’s attention to her lens.

 

Of course, Emma laughs even more and protests half-heartedly, “Whoa! Hey, no, this is not fair. Stop.” The last word sounds more insistent, so Audrey says, “Fine,” and snaps her camera shut. And she hasn’t even realized it till now, but she’s been giggling the whole time like a little kid, and it’s actually really nice to be able to just let loose like this with Emma. Things have felt so tense and uneasy ever since Emma joined Nina’s group, but as bad as it sounds, it’s actually like Nina’s death has opened the door for them to at least be friendly again. And in a strange way, Audrey’s grateful for that; it’s kind of like karmic payback for all the years of hell Nina exacted on her. 

 

“So, this girl,” Emma starts in, a devilish grin spreading across her features. “You guys, like, a thing?” There’s a glint in her eye, but there’s a genuinely curious undercurrent in her tone that lets Audrey know she’s actually interested. It’s a little awkward, truth be told, but it’d be a hell of a lot more awkward if Emma knew that she’d been (and is kind of still) Audrey’s dream of a “thing” for a while. 

 

Audrey just resorts to staring at the water sheepishly and mumbling, “No.” But then she remembers that Emma’s the kind of girl who won’t be satisfied by that, so she meets the other girl’s eyes and clarifies, more firmly this time, “No. We met on this film-geek website. Um, Rachel made these awesome videos about the zombie apocalypse using Legos.” Emma lets out a shocked laugh at that, like she’s surprised the innocent little Catholic schoolgirl would be into something so stereotypically boyish and nerdy (though, to be fair, Audrey had been a little surprised herself). “Yeah,” Audrey finds herself saying, and she’s slightly worried by the amount of affection in her own voice, “she’s wicked smart and funny, but she hates the way she looks.” She’s not quite sure why she’s sharing this much with Emma when their relationship is still so strange and fragile, but right now she’s so shocked by it all that she’s kind of just saying whatever comes to mind. 

 

“Sounds like us in eighth grade,” Emma says, and then Audrey sort of freezes for a moment, because _yeah_ that’s true but _damn_ if it isn’t bringing on a lot of bad flashbacks. Because they didn’t like how they looked in eighth grade, sure, but then ninth grade happened and Emma _was_ pretty, and the worst part (as selfish as it sounds) is that she realized it. And she left Audrey. Alone. 

 

Now she’s got the sharp, metallic tang of anger on her tongue, and what she says next just kind of slips out: “Yeah. Yeah, but then you got pretty.” Instantly, Audrey can tell that that was a mistake, because the air is suddenly thick with words unspoken and tension unresolved, and Emma’s wearing that weird, awkward smile she gets when she’s really uncomfortable with a situation, _shit_. And now she’s got this worry in the back of her mind that maybe she’s clued Emma in to how she used to feel for her, because _yeah_ that could’ve been slightly suggestive, so she quickly adds, “Okay, look, I didn’t mean that like I like you or anything. I’m not a lesbian.”

 

Well, the weird smile is gone, but it’s been replaced with a slightly incredulous one. “I get it,” Emma insists. “I mean, you’re bi-curious.” Audrey’s about to stop the conversation right there, but then Emma says, “If I was alone in a car with Scarlett Johansson…” She trails off, but it’s enough to make them both burst into laughter, and the thickness of the air seems to dissipate, makes it a little easier for Audrey to breathe.

 

She gets a little too comfortable with that, maybe, because the first thing that comes out of her mouth is, “I miss you, Em.” Emma’s silent at first, and Audrey panics a little, thinks that she might’ve fucked up, so she gives her former friend one of those little “please-tell-me-we’re-okay” half-smiles that they used to exchange all the time. Audrey prays that the other girl will remember what it means, and yup, she does, because she nods and responds, “I miss you, too.” 

 

And now Audrey thinks that maybe she won’t need that tequila anymore, because the tingle of desperate hope in her chest is a way better feeling than any alcohol could produce. 


	4. the mistake

They’re all sitting around in a circle, her and Emma and some of the very people who helped Nina ruin her life, but the weird part is that they’re being _nice_ , and Audrey’s really not sure how to feel about all this. “So, Audrey, are you having fun tonight?” Brooke asks, words a little slurred by the two rum and Cokes she’s already consumed. And Audrey’s not certain if the way that Brooke stares at her is meant to be pointed, or if it’s just her best impression of genuine caring, so she chooses her words carefully. Her night has been exciting enough without inciting a turf war with Brooke.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” she says slowly. But then she can’t help herself — she says what she’s really thinking. “I just don’t know why I’m at the memorial for someone who made my life miserable since, like, fourth grade.” And she winces internally when she's finished her sentence, knowing she’s probably just bought herself a one-way ticket out of the party and straight home, but strangely enough, Brooke doesn’t seem angered by Audrey’s confession. She just sits there, posed like a model, seemingly _intrigued_ by what she’s got to say (and that’s a first on so many levels). 

 

Next to her, Emma chimes in, “Yeah, Nina could be a first-class bitch.” She chuckles slightly, and the tension in Audrey’s chest eases a little bit. “But it’s weird. I keep on waiting for her to show up,” she adds, voice tinged with sadness, and now Audrey kind of feels bad. Because yeah, ever since Nina died she’s basically trash-talked her every chance she got, and talked about how absolutely _no one_ should miss her and what a colossal bitch she was, but people like Emma and Brooke — yeah, they probably _do_ miss Nina. Audrey’s sort of starting to get it. She tries to think about them missing Nina the way she missed Emma — she was mad at Emma, and thought she’d pulled a total bitch move by leaving her, but she’d still _missed her_. The fact that she’d been a bitch didn’t change that. 

 

“Yep. Drunk, manic, amped up to 11.” Brooke scoffs when she says it, but Audrey thinks that maybe that’s just the popular girl’s way of hiding how she really feels about it. She’s like that, too, buries her hurt and anxiety under sarcasm all the time, even with Noah. It’s not necessarily a nice feeling, to have to do that.

 

“And always dragging us into her crazy,” Will finishes. “Maybe it’s better off she’s gone.” Audrey’s a little shocked by that one; she hates the asshole, since he’s a big reason as to why Emma joined Nina’s group in the first place, and it doesn’t seem like he treats her that well anyway, but even that seems like a particularly ass-y comment for him. _Even_ while slightly drunk.

 

Next to her, Emma stiffens and then says incredulously, “Will, are you saying that you’re glad that she’s dead?” 

 

Will freezes, expression that of a deer caught in the headlights, and instantly tries to backtrack. “No,” he laughs nervously, “I’m just saying our lives will be a little more sane now.”

 

Brooke snorts at this. “Yours will certainly be less complicated,” she retorts, raising one perfectly-arched eyebrow to show her contempt. And there’s an implication in that, a suggestion that doesn’t take long to work itself out in Audrey’s brain, and Emma figures it out at the same time she does, letting out one of those little hurt gasps that used to break Audrey’s heart when they were younger. Before Audrey can stop her (although it probably wouldn’t be her place anyway), Emma jumps to her feet and storms off, Will chasing after her.

 

Then it’s just her and Brooke, the walking definition of high school perfection, and Audrey hasn’t felt quite this uncomfortable in a while. They lock eyes, Brooke practically challenging her to say something, until, with a swig of her drink, the other girl actually does break the silence: “That boy is an idiot.” And all Audrey can think is, _yeah, I know — but she left me for him anyway._

 

Suddenly, she’s wishing she hadn’t left that bottle of tequila.


	5. the prank

Twenty minutes later, long after Brooke’s wandered off to go find her people and Audrey’s been left alone to drink away her problems on the front porch, Audrey’s rushing to her best friend’s shivering side, the large group of people gathered around him having prompted her to go check out what was going on. And she’s glad she did check it out, because Noah is _soaked_ to the bone and shaking, too. She very quickly gathers that the human turd that is Jake Fitzgerald had, along with a few other guys, dumped Noah nearly-naked on the dock at the other end of the lake as a “prank,” and _holy shit_ if Noah weren’t practically hypothermic right now she’d be punching their lights out.

 

But also, Emma’s here. So Audrey restrains herself. She gets an arm around her best friend, helps him up, blood boiling with anger as she hears him gasping and spluttering like a fish out of water. And thankfully, he’s already got a blanket on him — because Emma’s here and _of course she did that_ — and Audrey’s torn between fury and slight appreciation for a moment, but then Noah spits up a little bit of lake water on the ground, and it’s not hard for the fury to take over. Because isn’t this Emma’s fault, really? _Her_ friends did this to Noah, at the party _she_ invited Audrey to. Maybe she hadn’t known Audrey would bring Noah along, but then again, shouldn’t have she assumed that? It was obvious to pretty much every seeing person at George Washington that Noah and Audrey were practically attached at the hip. Emma should’ve known her invitation would include an unspoken plus-one. 

 

So Audrey’s anger all comes rushing out on Emma. “Your friends are great, Emma. Thank you for the invite,” she snaps. She doesn’t stick around to hear what Emma has to say back —- she’s gotta get Noah to her car and turn the heater on, find him some clothes if she can or take him to her place so his mom doesn’t see how drunk and wet he is.

 

But she does catch a glimpse of the perfect “O” that Emma’s lips make when Audrey says it. She does catch the brief flash of hurt in those pretty green eyes. And she most certainly catches the way Emma kind of stumbles back, like she’s just been punched in the gut. And those are the images that will haunt her for the rest of the night. 


	6. the truth

She doesn’t see Emma at school the next day. Audrey knows she’s in class, gets a glimpse of her golden-hued ponytail during Language Arts, but she makes a conscious effort to avoid all possible contact with her former best friend. She was weak last night; she let the moment take her away, and then Noah got hurt. He deserves better than that, and Audrey can’t let herself do that anymore. She’s not going to let Emma Duval just swoop in and try to make up for a year of anger and hurt in five seconds. It wouldn’t be fair to Noah, not when Emma’s closest buddies are the same people who would let him drown in a lake for a “prank,” and not when their arguments can’t be solved with a flash of a dimpled smile and a sweet sentence. Noah was there for her when Emma left; Audrey owes it to the guy to be just as hard on Emma as she would be on him. 

 

But of course, Emma being Emma, she has to try to be the hero good girl and atone for her sins. So Audrey’s sitting in her room, scribbling out a half-hearted essay in her notebook, when Emma walks in, already sporting the apologetic smile that she must think will win Audrey over (and honestly, if she wears it long enough, it probably could). “Hi.” 

 

“What are you doing here?” Audrey says slowly. She should’ve expected this from the other girl — really, it’s textbook Emma, the classic ‘come to your room after a fight and apologize’ move that always worked so well — but it’s still a bit of a shock, to have Emma standing _here_ , in her room, where her kitten heels haven’t worn away at the wood in a year. 

 

Emma’s smile falters at Audrey’s tone. It’s probably less welcoming than she’d expected. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” she murmurs. And that, that makes the sour side of Audrey snarl, because of _course_ Emma’s going to try to guilt-trip her and make her feel _oh_ so bad that the poor little golden girl didn't get her beauty sleep last night. Of _course_. She must’ve learned that one from Nina.

 

“Okay, and what does that have to do with me?” Audrey finds herself retorting. 

 

“It has to do with us,” Emma says softly, her eyes screaming _why haven’t you forgiven me already, this is not going to plan_. When this doesn’t seem to provoke a reaction in Audrey, Emma’s lip trembles a little bit, like maybe she’s hoping _that_ will make Audrey feel for her. And if Emma had done this last night, when Audrey was caught up in the bright blue of pool water and tingling warmth of alcohol and hope, maybe it would’ve worked. But seeing Emma in this sadistic light, as she is right now, it kind of helps, a _lot_. Makes it harder to pardon her, harder to give in to all the little shortcuts that Emma always takes to garner forgiveness faster. It also makes Audrey feel dark and hard and cold inside, but she can ignore that for now. Surviving Emma’s impromptu friendship-therapy session is what’s more important.

 

She laughs bitterly, capping her pen and making sure to look the other girl in the eyes. “What do you want from me, Em? There’s no ‘us’ anymore.” The old nickname slips out, an old habit that Audrey never quite kicked, and Audrey prays it doesn’t make her words any less effective. “Brooke may have let me into her party,” she continues, getting up and stepping into Emma’s personal space, “but I really don’t think we’re going for mani-pedis anytime soon.” 

 

“I’m not Brooke,” Emma says incredulously. 

 

“Give it time,” she hisses, a little more harshly than she’d intended, and the way that Emma reacts like she’s been slapped in the face makes Audrey taste steel. The other girl gapes at her, eyes a little glassy, and Audrey’s about to apologize, but then images of a barely-breathing Noah flash through her mind, and Emma opens her mouth again before Audrey can say anything anyway.

 

“I was there. At the parking lot.” It’s a confession, Audrey realizes, but a confession of what? Who cares about a parking lot? And then she remembers: _the video_. The video was filmed in a parking lot. _Oh, my God_. Suddenly, every molecule in her body is vibrating with anger and confusion and the _worst_ kind of hurt, because for all her flaws, she’d never even considered that Emma could’ve done that to her, _would’ve_ done that to her.

 

“You filmed me?” she whispers. 

 

Emma’s eyes grow wide at that, and she clearly starts to panic a little bit, because she hastily stammers out, “No. No, it wasn’t me, it was Nina, okay? We were just messing around, and Nina saw you guys parked, and I didn’t even realize it was you until—”

 

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” Audrey cuts in, almost in Emma’s face now. “So this whole ‘let’s be friends again’ thing is because you felt _guilty_?” This revelation, it makes things entirely different. Now Audrey can see clearly, and she can’t believe she’s been so stupid. Emma’s been _playing_ her, this whole time. She felt bad about herself because the video got so popular, so to clear her stupid good-girl conscience, she’d extended an olive branch and invited Audrey to the party. _God,_ she’d been so naïve.

 

When Emma doesn’t have a response— when she just stands there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water — that confirms Audrey’s worst fear. She _has_ been played. Expertly so. “You bitch,” she breathes. Emma exhales sharply, tears beading at the corners of her eyes, but Audrey doesn’t stick around to hear her excuse. She storms out and leaves Emma there, because what else is there to do?

 

She was a fool. She let Emma get to her. She should have known better.


	7. the text

She almost doesn’t go to school the next day. Not that she’s a habitual skipper or anything, but she’s so tired, and she could use a break from Mr. Branson’s creepy monologues anyway — well, that’s what she tells herself. Internally, Audrey knows that she’s just trying to avoid Emma, trying to prevent herself from falling into the other girl’s trap of fake kindness and hollow generosity. She even sleeps in, but lucky her, her father’s home from work today and practically breaks down her door yelling at her to get up. So Audrey doesn’t get her day off.

 

Instead, what she gets is Emma. Relentless, unapologetically desperate Emma. She can’t help herself, glances at the blonde girl as she walks in, has a nasty, fleeting thought about how stereotypically _preppy_ that matching blue sweater-skirt ensemble is. Audrey gets to her locker and almost thinks she’s gotten away with it, until Emma marches up because _nope_ she saw that glance and she’s not going to let it slide today. 

 

“Audrey, can we please talk?” she says lowly. She smells like mango, and that’s new because when they were friends, Emma used to smell like strawberry. _Guess she switched shampoos to maintain her new model hair_ , Audrey thinks bitterly. 

 

Her entire body suddenly feels heavy and weighted down, weary with the knowledge that Emma’s not going to give up on this, is she? She sighs. “What’s there to say?” And it comes out way louder than she meant it to, but now everyone’s staring at them, and Audrey can’t be nice, can’t look _weak_ , because then everyone will know how absolutely _much_ she still cares for Emma Duval. “You and Nina filmed me and Rachael,” she continues, unable to stop herself. She’s going to go for the jugular, maybe end this back-and-forth once and for all. “She posted it all over the web. _You_ lied about it and now you feel guilty. There, we talked.” She throws her book into her locker and doesn’t turn back to face Emma until the feeling of eyes on her back goes away.

 

It should’ve been enough to make Emma quit. But Emma’s a determined one, Audrey should’ve remembered that, and she keeps going. “You’re right,” she nods. “I didn’t stop Nina from filming you and I should have. But…” She inhales sharply, pausing for a second, and her next words are softer, more pleading. “Hey, can we please find a way to move on from this?” It’s _almost_ enough to make Audrey crack, and Audrey can feel her own eyes softening a little bit, but then Emma adds, “I mean, pretty soon, there’s gonna be a new headline.” And nope, she’s angry again, because what is that even saying? _Don’t worry, Audrey, you won’t be the humiliated one for much longer. We’ve got other prey in mind._ Yeah, sounds pretty Nina-esque to her.

 

“Oh, so I should be comforted by the fact that someone else is bound to be humiliated today?” she says, the words acerbic and sour on her tongue. And cruelty and sarcasm, that clearly won’t make Emma feel bad enough to walk away, so she tries one of her ex-best friend’s own tricks: the guilt trip. “Those comments aren’t going away, and Rachael…” Audrey can’t help it; she chokes a little bit on her own words, because first of all _how dare she_ use Rachael like this, as a pawn in her own game to make Emma feel worse, and second of all, she hasn’t heard from Rachael in hours and it’s bothering her more than she’d care to admit. “Rachael can’t ignore them like I can,” she finishes. “She won’t even text me back.” 

 

Maybe there’s more to be said, but they don’t get to that point, because just as she’s digging for her phone to check if Rachael’s still AWOL, every cell phone in the hallway chimes. Audrey’s initial thought is that maybe it’s one of those stupid school-sponsored group notifications, the ones they send to the students when midterms are coming up or they’ve got a major football game this weekend — but no, as the text flashes up on her phone, she realizes it’s something far more sinister.

 

It’s a body. _Nina’s_ body, in fact. And standing in front of that body is some psycho in a mask and black hoodie. “PAYBACK’S A BITCH,” scream the red letters surrounding the gif. Suddenly, she feels very cold.

 

“That’s the Brandon James mask,” Emma whispers.

 

“Guess you got your new headline,” she breathes.


	8. the call

She’s still re-playing their conversation in her head when Audrey hears the words that will change her life. 

 

“My friend from Saint Mary’s texted. A girl that goes there died.” It’s Riley Marra who says this, all wide-eyed and breathless, and all the air goes out of Audrey’s lungs as she scrambles for her phone and checks the screen, once, twice, _three_ times.

 

Because what she’s reading, it’s like the lead-up to a bad scene in a horror movie. It’s a text, from Rachael’s number, but the words so distinctively _un-_ Rachael:  **Hi, Audrey. Please call when you see this. It’s important. ** Sent less than five minutes before Riley spoke up.

 

She feels like she’s going to puke. She chokes out, “I have, uh, to go to the bathroom,” and sprints out of the classroom like the building’s on fire. Her phone is cool against the clammy heat of her hand, and her fingers slip on the screen as she goes into the hallway and dials Rachael’s number. “C’mon, Rachael,” she mutters, “pick up…”

 

The voice that answers is too high and reedy to be Rachael’s. Her voice is lower, sweeter, and Audrey’s shaking as the voice says, “Audrey. It’s Mrs. Murray.” 

 

“Where’s Rachael?” she cries out. She’s never felt so desperate or dangerously close to losing it before. “Why hasn’t she been answering her phone?”

 

“Rachael’s dead, Audrey. She… she hung herself from her ceiling fan.” 

 

Audrey lets out a choked sob, and suddenly, the weight of her own body feels like it’s too much to support. She leans against her locker for support, her very world spinning around her. _Rachael’s dead. Dead. And it’s your fault. You kissed her. If you hadn’t kissed her, there wouldn’t have been a video. And she wouldn’t have been so upset by all the comments. You knew she hated herself, you knew she cut herself, why didn’t you_ do something _? Why didn’t you stay with her or go check up on her last night?_

 

Without even realizing it, she’s hung up on Rachael’s mother, hand falling limply by her side, the other having formed a fist and pressing against the cool metal of the locker, trying desperately to find something that feels _real_ and _solid_ right now. Her stomach rolls, and Audrey thinks she might be sick, so she lets her forehead fall against the locker, hoping if she just steadies herself for a moment, it’ll calm her down. She’s shaking all over, and in this moment, all she can think is about how alone Rachael must’ve been, how scared she probably was with her dying breath. _And you weren’t there for her. You didn’t care. You were probably thinking about_ Emma.

 

Audrey’s faintly aware of the slam of a door behind her, but her ears are ringing and she doesn’t process whose classroom door it was until there’s a hand on her back and the sickly-sweet scent of mango filling her lungs. “Audrey, is everything okay?” Emma asks, but her touch doesn’t feel right like it used to, and Audrey jerks back from it like it’s poison. Maybe it is, because it seems to singe her skin and it makes her veins burn hot with hatred, because maybe this is Emma’s fault. She _knew_ Nina had the video. She knew it would go up. And Rachael couldn’t handle it. Rachael killed herself because of the video.

 

She finds herself explaining what happened, maybe so she can hear it again and acknowledge that it really is real, maybe so Emma can hear it and feel sick with guilt like she does right now. “I called Rachael to check on her,” she says, halting sobs cutting her off every so often. “Her mom answered her phone. They found her hanging from her ceiling fan.” She’s dissolving now, can feel herself just _melting_ into grief, anger, and guilt, and when Emma looks at her, brows furrowed in shock and mouth hanging open stupidly, Audrey wants nothing more than to scream at her, _yell_ at her, make her feel an eighth of the pain she’s feeling right now.

 

But all she can do is say, “She’s dead,” and now it’s a finality, it’s _real_ , and she’s forcing herself to walk away before it gets to be too much.


	9. the confession

It’s only the thought of Rachael that gets her to the basketball game that night. It’s only the memory of how adorably _obsessed_ Rachael was with her film-making, and how she’d always encouraged Audrey to film everything she could, that keeps Audrey going long enough to film the highlights of the game and not break down when Mayor Maddox mentions her.

 

She’s feeling bitter tonight, but also angry. Bitter because Noah gets to go live his fairytale with one of the prettiest girls in school, while her fairytale is lying cold on an autopsy table. Angry because Rachael’s dead, and all she has left of her is a clips compilation on YouTube. Bitter because Emma’s here tonight, she saw her in the crowd, cheering on Will like he didn’t sleep with the hot dead girl. Angry because she’s all alone now, and it’s not fair (though if Rachael killed herself and Audrey hadn’t thought to check on her last night, maybe she _deserves_ to be alone). 

 

Then Emma comes barreling around the corner, glowing to the rest of the world in jeans and a colorblocked sweater, but Audrey knows her. Audrey can see the slight downturn in her lips, the little wrinkle between her brows, the dullness in her eyes that are all the typical signs of a sad or upset Emma. If these were the old times, when Emma still smelled like strawberry and didn’t take back douchebag basketball players, maybe she’d ask if she was okay. But no one asked Rachael if she was okay, and look where they are now. So Audrey doesn’t say anything, just presses her back firmly against the wall and keeps fiddling with her clips from tonight.

 

Emma stops and talks to her, anyway. Of course she does. It’s _her_ and she’s got a nasty case of good-girl-savior complex. “Hi,” Emma breathes out, almost sounding surprised by her own voice. It makes Audrey want to tear up, for some reason, so she looks down at her camera and lets Emma keep going. “I, uh, I liked the film you made for Rachael.” 

 

That makes Audrey look up from her camera. She saw it? She would’ve had to been searching Rachael’s name to see it, it’s not like Emma’s subscribed to her fucking YouTube channel and the video’s certainly not trending. “Thanks,” she says, trying to keep as much emotion out of it as possible, lest Emma read too much into it and think she needs saving or something. “It was just some clips.” She turns to walk away, but the scent of mango follows her, Emma right behind.

 

“It was really beautiful.” Emma says it like she’s expecting an answer, or maybe a thank you, but Audrey won’t give her another one of those. That’d be like giving in, and damn it, she’s got to fight for some shred of dignity, if not for herself then for Rachael. And now they’re walking in sync, like they used to back when they were kids and Nina Patterson was still a warm body spewing hatred her way, and it’s a weird feeling for Audrey. She hates how much she likes it.

 

“Look, I know that Rachel had some issues—” Emma starts, but Audrey doesn’t let her finish. She can feel herself bristling at the words, because she knows what’s going to come next, a clinical explanation for a tragedy, and Audrey’s had too many of those in her lifetime. She thought she’d left those behind in Boston.

 

“What, the cutting?” she says lowly. “Let me guess, you’re gonna tell me that she killed herself because she was depressed.” The words are acidic on her tongue, and Audrey’s pretty sure she can taste bile rising in her throat. This is _sickening_ , not just Emma but the fact that they’re even having this conversation, that Rachael is even _dead_ and _by her own hands at that_. 

 

Audrey’s expecting tears. Maybe a bit of a meltdown. But for what isn’t the first and certainly won’t be the last time, Emma surprises her. She stops in her tracks and turns to face Audrey, regret written all over her features. And it doesn’t seem like nice-girl, sorry-I-made-your-friend suicidal regret, it appears to be genuine, holy-shit-I-fucked-up regret. Audrey kind of likes this side of her, even if the circumstances are shitty. “No, no, I did this, okay?” Emma insists. “Whether the video was a tiny part of it or the thing that pushed her over the edge, I am taking full responsibility.” 

 

There’s silence between them for a moment, because Audrey doesn’t know what to say. Emma just accepted all the blame for the most painful thing she’s ever been through, and she doesn’t even look like she’s expecting forgiveness or absolution. She’s just… _done it_ , no strings attached, and Audrey’s not sure whether to hate her (because it does make her so forgivable, damn it) or to love her for it. 

 

Emma takes this uncertain silence to mean something else. “You have every reason to hate me,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone. 

 

And Audrey’s alone, again.

 


	10. the wake

The wake is painful. Every inch of the Murrays’ house is a stinging reminder of Rachael, a memory, a first. Rachael’s parents don’t really want her here; her mother’s face twists in disgust when she sees Audrey, but she quickly covers it with a plastered-on smile and hugs Audrey tight, a little too tight for her liking. Rachael’s father stays in the kitchen, avoiding conversation and crying over the sink when he thinks people aren’t looking. This house is full of heartbreak, and Audrey knows she’s going to leave soon, but there’s one last thing she has to do before she goes.

 

She ventures up to Rachael’s bedroom, the familiar scent of the eucalyptus candles that Rachael loved so much leading her there. The room is bright and vibrant, the pink bedspread neatly made, the “Zombie Quarantine” poster on the wall burning Audrey’s eyes like it always has. She’s always secretly thought of it as an eyesore, but she’d never dare say a word to Rachael. Zombies were how they met, anyway, so it’d be like a sin against their relationship to say anything.

 

Any trace of the death that took place here has been removed, and Audrey’s almost a little disappointed to find that. She craves an answer, was hoping the police had left behind something that could tell her why, _why_ Rachael had put a rope around her own neck. But this room is too clean, so neatly dusted and purified that it doesn’t even seem like Rachael’s anymore, and she knows she won’t find anything here. 

 

There’s something she needs to try, though. A suspicion has been creeping along her spine since she got home and fully processed Rachael’s death the other day, and Audrey has to leave this house with some kind of answer, since Rachael’s room obviously won’t otherwise provide her with anything. She takes her belt off, the one that Rachael always teased her for and called “a Hot Topic store’s wet dream,” and loops it around the pull on the ceiling fan, having to step onto the bed to come face-to-face with the improvised noose. Suddenly, she’s chilled to the bone, because picturing a noose and coming face-to-face with one are two very different things, and she can only imagine how _desperate_ Rachael must have been to die to do this. 

 

She slips the noose around her head until it’s under her chin, the rough interior of the studs biting into her neck, and maybe she’s contemplating a _little_ bit what it would be like to just step off the bed—

 

Until Emma barges in, of course, with a cry of, “Audrey!” and her hands suddenly on Audrey’s waist, _too close_ as she’s pulling her off of the bed and onto the floor. She protests, telling Emma to get off of her, but the other girl doesn’t listen, never has when it comes to things like this that she thinks are so important.

 

“Were you just trying to—” Emma doesn’t finish the sentence, eyes wide and wild at the possibility of what could’ve been, but what she doesn’t understand is that Audrey was just looking for an _answer_.

 

“No! I was just testing to see if it was even _possible_ ,” Audrey protests. Then it hits her, that Emma’s actually here, at Rachael’s _wake_ , which feels so wrong in so many ways. If Emma really believes she’s responsible for Rachael’s suicide, then why is she here? Isn’t that considered disrespectful, to come to the wake of a person you indirectly killed? Audrey’s no expert when it comes to etiquette, but she’s pretty sure that’s _super_ wrong.

 

And it makes her angry, in a way, that Emma is here. This is supposed to be her time, her last, private moment with the remnants of Rachael, to mourn. Rachael’s not getting a funeral; her parents are ashamed by the circumstances of her death and have decided to cremate her, so they can have her with them always. That in and of itself makes Audrey mad enough; she _loved_ Rachael, would it be too much to ask to have a grave to visit every once in awhile? She knows it’s not her choice, but sometimes she feels like these choices are just specifically made by fate to give her a giant slap in the face. Things like these are why she stopped believing in God at age thirteen. 

 

So this is the last time she’ll get with Rachael, or rather, what’s been left behind of her. The last time she’ll get to smell those eucalyptus candles, the last time she’ll get to sit on the edge of that bedspread and laugh about the ink stain on the corner, the one that Rachael made one night when she got caught up in scribbling down her plans for a new film and didn’t notice her pen exploding. The last time she’ll get to just breathe and be surrounded by Rachael. So how dare Emma intrude on this, how _dare she_ be here right now.

 

“What are you doing here? Emma, this is Rachael’s _wake_ ,” Audrey reminds her. 

 

“Rachael didn’t kill herself,” Emma says firmly, not even flinching at it. And it’s a hell of a thing to say, especially when Audrey’s seen exactly zero concrete proof of that, but it makes sense, it fits with the doubt that’s been creeping up and down Audrey’s spine for so many days.

 

It still hits her like a ton of bricks, though. “What?” 

 

“My mom found something in the autopsy. The sheriff’s opening a murder investigation,” Emma tells her. And Audrey sees it in her eyes, that thing she’s never sure whether to hate or to love — that strange mix of pity and sadness that Emma feels for her. She’s talking logically, factually, but her face is just pure emotion, practically screaming _I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry, she got taken from you and it wasn’t even her own decision_. 

 

Audrey hates her for it.

 

“I knew it,” she finds herself saying. “I knew Rachael wouldn’t kill herself.” And it’s true, that the act of suicide is a very un- _Rachael_ thing. Rachael was depressed, yes, but Audrey remembers a particular discourse the other girl had gone on, talking about how she’d never put her family through something like that. Maybe her mind had changed, but Rachael had felt so strongly about the subject that Audrey doubted it.

 

“But who would want to kill her?” she asks. Rachael was one of the sweetest people at St. Mary’s. The likelihood of one of her classmates deciding to murder her like that was slim to none. She’d never even gotten a detention, for fuck’s sake.

 

Emma swallows, bites her lip and replies, “I don’t know.” But she looks like she wants to provide an answer, more than anything, and in that moment, Audrey couldn’t be more grateful for it. Fuck pity, or sympathy, or grief. She wants _answers_ , and she can appreciate Emma being upset about not having them.

 

Before Audrey can say anything else, Emma says, “I’m really sorry, I’ve gotta go. I wanted you to hear it from me.” And Audrey would almost believe her, but then she does that hair twirl thing, the one where she discreetly wraps a strand of hair around her finger till it goes white, the thing she does when she’s not telling the whole truth, and Audrey knows she’s gotta stop her.

 

“Seriously? Emma, you just did your hair twirl thing. What's going on?” she demands. Emma freezes, but in a way, she looks almost relieved that Audrey didn’t let her go. 

 

It’s the first time she’s looked at Audrey like that in a while.


	11. the response

Emma started working at the coffee shop their freshman year, and she’d dragged Audrey here a couple of times before their fallout, but not enough times that Audrey remembers it very well. When Emma takes her here after the wake, it makes her feel a little calmer, a little safer, ironically enough. Really, she shouldn’t be so comfortable here — this is Emma’s home turf, not hers — but the scent of coffee and the light music playing in the background just makes everything _easier_.

 

For the past fifteen minutes, Emma’s been taking advantage of her break to explain to Audrey what’s been going on with her the past few days. Apparently, some creep’s been calling her and saying disturbing shit — talking about her family, her friends, how she can’t trust anyone — and obviously, it’s got Emma freaked out, big time. Emma hasn’t dared to say it yet, but Audrey can’t help but wonder — could this creep have gone for Rachael? Or even Nina? They’d all received that weird text message, which was on the same level of psycho as these phone calls, and Audrey had never thought Tyler intelligent enough to pull off borderline psychological torture like this.

 

“At first, I thought it was just some loser playing with his new voice changer app on his phone,” Emma says, leaning in close. Audrey can feel her warmth and wants to be even closer so badly, but she keeps her hands on her arms so the temptation doesn’t get to her. “But he won’t leave me alone.” 

 

“So you think some deranged stalker killed Rachael to hurt _you_?” Audrey asks. That’s basically what Emma’s been implying the past few minutes, and it sounds kind of insane (although what’s the saying — the things that sound the craziest are often the most true?). 

 

“Look,” Emma sighs, “I know that I sound deranged. I don’t know. Maybe I am. But this guy acted like he _knew_ me. He said he wanted to show me the truth.” 

 

“Have you told your mom?” Maggie Duval’s a smart woman, and at this point, Audrey’s starting to think that maybe she’d be the best person to handle all this. Hell, if her own mother were around and she were receiving the same calls as Emma, she’d be the first person to find out.

 

“I was going to, but she’s the one he told me not to trust,” Emma says, biting her lip, and _damn_ if that isn’t a sticky situation. Audrey contemplates what to do for a moment, considering even bringing in Noah to brainstorm, but then she gets an idea. It’s a crazy one, probably riskier than Emma will like, but it’s worth a shot. And maybe she’ll _finally_ get some answers from it.

 

“What if you wrote him back?” she suggests. 

 

“What?”

 

“If this psycho did kill Rachael, I wanna know the reason why. He DMed you, right?” She watches Emma’s face for any signs of apprehension, but sees none. Maybe Emma’s just as eager to find out as she is.

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, her fingers ghosting over her back pocket, where Audrey knows she’s habitually kept her phone since middle school.

 

“He opened a line,” Audrey continues. “Let’s direct message his ass back.” Emma hesitates only for a second before she nods and pulls her phone out. As she unlocks it, it briefly occurs to Audrey that she doesn’t know Emma’s passcode anymore, and that makes her sad for a second. She watches as Emma types out a response, then displays the screen to her.  ** I know you killed Rachel. tell me why ** , it says. Audrey doesn’t bother to correct her on the spelling; hell, even the password to her own phone, which is rachelsgirl, has it misspelled, cuz she’d gone so long without Rachael ever telling her how it was really “Rachael” and not “Rachel”. 

 

She gives a little tip of her chin, the sign that she’s always given Emma when they’re about to do something together, and looks on as Emma presses send. They lock eyes for a second, which makes Audrey’s chest tighten, as Emma says grimly, “Now we wait.” 

 

They haven’t done anything together in too long, and even if it’s responding to a psycho stalker’s DM, it still feels nice. Too nice.


	12. the town hall

Riley Marra is dead, and Audrey thinks _damn, what is it with sweet girls whose names start with “R” in this town_ , because Riley was never mean to her, not in the way that Nina always was. And Noah’s fucking devastated, of course, because Riley was his first kiss and his first chance at love, and now she’s gone, bled out on the rooftop of the _police station_ , ironically enough. Audrey tries to be there for him, tries to comfort him the way he did for her after Rachael died, but she knows it’ll never be enough. There is no magic solution to ease the pain of losing your first love. The only solution is time.

 

And the sheriff holds a bullshit town hall about it, claiming that Tyler’s body was found in a crashed car and that Tyler is the one who killed Riley and Nina, and he says it’s _all over now_ but Audrey thinks his words aren’t worth a shit. And his pretty little speech is missing a name, too. Rachael’s. Why would Tyler kill her? He didn’t even know her.

 

So she confronts him in the hallway after, and she asks him, “What about Rachael Murray? Did Tyler kill her, too?” 

 

Sheriff Hudson looks at her with what’s almost a smug grin on his face and replies, “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that. We just opened our investigation.” Audrey wants to punch that look right off of his face.

 

“But you _are_ investigating it, right?” she presses further. Piper catches her eye across the room, but Audrey’s not interested, is too focused on the sheriff right now. “You’re not just gonna pin it on Tyler to close the case?”

 

That hits a nerve for the sheriff — maybe because his station’s practices are being so heavily scrutinized now — and he steps a little closer, insisting, “No one’s pinning anything on anyone.” Audrey’s about to argue that, but she smells mangoes and hears the click-clack of heels from behind her and realizes Emma’s just walked up.

 

“Emma,” Sheriff Hudson sneers, “maybe you should take your friend to see one of those grief counselors.” It takes everything in Audrey not to jump on him, and the sheriff seems to know her patience is wearing thin, because he gives her one long final look and walks off, leaving her there with Emma. Audrey starts to go after him, but Emma grabs her arm.

 

“Hey, Audrey. Come on. I know,” the girl says, but Audrey’s too full of anger to respond right now. This hellhole of a town doesn’t care about Rachael. They care about the pretty, popular girls, the ones whose parents have enough money to sue and the ones who will make the best headlines in the news, but they don’t give two shits about girls like Rachael. And it’s _unfair_. People are either going to think that Rachael offed herself or Tyler, for some weird, _random_ reason, decided to kill her, but they’re never going to know the truth. Not if Sheriff Hudson keeps conducting that ‘investigation’. 

 

“Look, we’re gonna figure this out, I promise,” Emma says firmly. The sincerity of her tone calms Audrey down a little bit, at least enough to respond.

 

“The crazy thing is, I kind of want it to be Tyler,” she admits. “I just want it to be over.” It’s a relief to say that, because she hasn’t been able to say it to Noah or anyone else. Anyone else would think it callous, or insensitive maybe, but Emma gets it. She knows.

 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Emma says, lowering her voice as more people walk by.

 

It takes Audrey a second to process, but she does, with widened eyes and a new sense of determination flowing through her veins. “You think the killer is still out there.” And _god_ , now she wants to leave right now and figure out who the hell it is, because yeah, it’d be nice to be able to wrap it all up with a neat little bow and declare that Tyler O’Neill killed all those girls, but it doesn’t make sense. Audrey wants to see this guy brought to justice.

 

“I don’t know, I hope not. Even if Tyler did kill Riley and Nina, why would he have been the one harassing me?” Emma questions. “It doesn’t make sense,” she concludes with a shrug of her shoulders, and _that’s_ the Emma Audrey knew and loved, the Emma who takes things and analyzes them through her own special magnifying glass and always looks for the answer. The _right_ answer, not the easy one.

 

“You’re right,” she nods. And for a second, it’s like the old times. Emma and Audrey, the crime solving duo, the inseparable best friends, the girls who acted like sisters but couldn’t have been more different from each other.

 

Then Emma has to head off to work, and Audrey’s quickly reminded that things have changed a lot since freshman year.


	13. the game shop

She’s trying to convince Noah not to drink his problems away when Emma bursts through the door of the video game shop, calling Noah’s name and pretty much radiating anxiety. “What’s up?” Audrey asks, only to be met with Emma slamming her backpack on the counter and pulling out a candy apple-red yearbook.

 

“I got this in the mail,” she says, opening it up and flipping through the pages. Audrey catches a glimpse of scribbled-out faces and cut-out pictures, and it’s enough to make her shiver. “I think the killer is sending me some weird message.”

 

“A yearbook? That’s not so weird,” Noah counters. Then he sees the mangled photos and cries, “Oh, holy Manson family album!” It’s funny, but Audrey knows it’s just gonna jack up Emma’s anxiety levels even further, so she punches him lightly in the arm and whispers a cautionary _hey_ his way.

 

“Sorry,” Noah murmurs. “Just… These were Brandon’s victims.”

 

“He stole their faces,” Audrey says, slightly in awe of the pure psychopathy of this dude. 

 

“And then he scratched out my dad’s,” Emma points out, showing them Kevin Duval’s picture. “The only survivor.” She’s trying to come off as strong and just curious, not scared, but Audrey can see right through it; Emma’s terrified.

 

“I guess Tyler could have sent this, but it seems a little analog for a killer who’s been using social media and cell cloning,” Noah comments. 

 

“Well, I mean he _is_ taking me to the past,” Emma says. Audrey’s not concerned with the datedness of it though; she’s too busy looking at the words the killer scribbled by Emma’s dad’s picture.

 

“Is this the message?” she asks.

 

Emma nods. “Yeah. ‘The truth lies where the mask was made,’” she reads. Noah doesn’t see it, but Audrey catches the little tremble in Emma’s finger as she gestures to it. 

 

“You know, the mask Brandon James wore was actually a surgical mask,” Noah tells her. Audrey’s heard this millions of times, having accepted long ago that her best friend was a total Brandon James geek, but it’s clearly news to Emma, surprise flashing across her features. “Some say it was all that held his face together—” _Okay, that’s too much, he’s gonna scare Emma._

 

“Noah,” Audrey cuts in. 

 

“Okay, okay. Just…” Noah waves his arms around for a second, the way he does when he’s getting too into something and is frustrated that others around might get grossed out by it. “It was to protect his sutures from infection, post-op.”

 

“So who made it?” Emma says.

 

“I don’t know. Brandon’s surgeries were done at Lakewood General, out on the turnpike, but it closed down, like, six or seven years ago,” Noah replies. Audrey sees the idea forming on Emma’s face the second it starts, knows the cogs are already turning in her former best friend’s brain, and can only hope that Noah doesn’t catch on, because god knows the _last_ place he needs to be is the possible hideout of his dead sort-of-girlfriend’s killer. 

 

It’s Noah, though, so of course he catches on. “Please tell me we’re going there!” he begs, almost childlike in his enthusiasm. 

 

“No. We’re, we’re not going anywhere.” Emma shakes her head and closes the yearbook.

 

“But it’s a great lead!” Noah protests. Audrey fakes confused, because she thinks she knows what Emma's going to do, and she wants to make sure Noah has no idea.

 

“Look, I know that you want to do something for Riley, and I do too. But, uh…” Emma falters for a moment, looking over at Audrey while she finds the words to say. It makes Audrey glow for a second, because it’s like things used to be, even though they’re both half-broken and Emma’s the pretty one now, not the partner in crime. “This could be a trap,” Emma finishes. 

 

Noah takes the loss better than Audrey’d expected, maybe because he’s already lost so much this week. “Uh, yeah, fine. Okay,” he says, staring down at his cup. “Why don’t you take it to the sheriff? Yeah, go be law-abiding and whatever.” He reaches for his headphones and walks out from behind the counter, adding, “I’ve got some grief-gaming to do.” Audrey’s heart aches for him, really it does, because she knows exactly what it’s like to lose someone like that and then also lose all hope of finding out who took them from you. It’s how she felt this morning with Sheriff Hudson. 

 

With Noah officially wrapped up in his video game, Audrey turns and waits for Emma to say something, but the other girl is already slinging her backpack over her shoulder and getting ready to head out. “I’ll catch you later.” 

 

But no, she knows Emma too well. Emma’s going to go alone, because she’s smart but also _way_ stupid sometimes and also incredibly selfless, and Audrey knows she’s terrified of putting anyone else in danger. “Emma?” she calls after her, jogging to the door to meet her there. “Em, you’re going to that hospital alone, aren’t you?” 

 

Emma won’t meet her eyes for a second, and then she says lowly, “I—I just keep thinking about what you said this morning. About what a relief it would be if it actually was Tyler who was behind all of this. And, I mean, if he sent me that yearbook, and he’s dead, then this isn't a trap. He’s not there to ambush me.”

 

“And you’d have your answer.” Audrey completes the thought for her.

 

“Yeah,” Emma nods. “But also, if it wasn’t him…” She trails off, unwilling to think about the possibility, but Audrey already has been.

 

“Then we go together,” she blurts out. “Prepared.” Emma just looks at her for a second, shocked, like she can’t believe Audrey would ever suggest that. And, yeah, the Audrey of yesterday morning probably wouldn’t have. But after what Emma did for her, by coming to the wake and personally telling her about Rachael’s real cause of death, then their sending the DM to the killer together, and that sense of _togetherness_ that Audrey had finally felt again at the town hall this morning — well, Audrey can’t really say she hates her anymore. Emma Duval’s reeled her back in, but Audrey can’t even find it in herself to be bitter about it. She cares about Emma too much to let her get murdered by some creep. That’s just the sad reality of it.

 

“Okay,” Emma says slowly. Audrey thinks she sees a hint of a smile on her face. “Should we take Noah?” 

 

“Oh, God, no. He’d be like a four-year-old at Disneyland,” she quips. “We’d have to put a leash on him.” And it doesn’t make Emma laugh (not like she’d _sortakindamaybe_ hoped it would), but it does ease the tension in the air, the overwhelming gravity of what they’re about to get into.

 

“Fair point.” 

 

Audrey reaches for her camera and holds it up for Emma to see. “He can watch the highlight reel.” 

 

That doesn’t make her smile, and Emma just says, “Let’s go,” and Audrey accepts that maybe they’re not going to recover from this as quickly as she’s suddenly hoped.

 

But it’s okay. She hasn’t been friends with Emma Duval in a year. She can handle a couple more months of awkward.

 

( _As long as she doesn’t leave you again_ , the nasty little voice in the back of her head hisses.) 


	14. the hospital

The car ride to the hospital is short, but still painfully awkward, and Audrey winces as she realizes this is the absolute _first_ time she’s ever driven Emma anywhere. Great, something that should be like a childhood milestone, and they’re doing it on the way to break into the potential lair of a serial killer. Eleven-year-old Audrey never dreamed of anything like this.

 

The hospital appears to be in relatively good condition, although ivy’s grown over a lot of the signage and vandalism has clearly been an activity of choice here. Emma’s out of the car first, Audrey following her lead as soon as she’s got the engine shut off, and as soon as they’ve both walked around the side of the car, Emma says, “Okay, so, what do you think?”

 

Audrey’s chest warms a little at that. Emma used to do that all the time when they were little — sure, Emma was the smart one, but she’d always been typecast as the brave one, the girl who wasn’t scared of anything, and so it had become a habit for Emma to ask her what she thought first before following through on anything. Audrey had pictured that extending to homecoming dress choices and potential prom dates, but obviously their friendship had died out before getting to that point.

 

“Uh, second thoughts are setting in,” she replies, taking a good look at their surroundings. Definitely horror movie material. It’s colder today, the Louisiana heat finally giving in to the chill of October, and Audrey rubs her hands a little bit, trying to get them warm.

 

“Look, this guy killed Riley at the police station and Nina at her house, and I know for a fact that he was outside my house the other night,” Emma says. “If he wanted to kill me, he’s had plenty of chances.” And maybe she’s saying it to reassure Audrey, but it really sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself.

 

“That’s sketchy logic,” she points out, unable to help herself. “But it almost makes sense,” she adds, seeing the way that Emma’s face falls a little bit, her tough-girl façade cracking slightly. 

 

Five minutes later, they’re securely in the hospital, Audrey armed with a crowbar and Emma cradling a stun gun (courtesy of Audrey’s father). “Maybe we should split up,” she suggests as they come to a fork in the wing. This place is massive; they’ll never find what they’re looking for before sunset at this rate.

 

“Hey, that is not even remotely funny,” Emma complains, grabbing Audrey’s arm and _pulling_ her back towards her. Her touch makes Audrey feel like Emma maybe accidentally zapped her with the stun gun, but she looks down and just sees Emma’s delicate fingers, and realizes that it’s something more powerful than a stun gun.

 

Something whose existence she’s absolutely going to deny until the end of time.

 


	15. the exposure

It’s less than 24 hours after she and Noah exponentially fucked up, the video of Emma’s first time still saved to every mobile phone in Lakewood, but Emma’s at school anyway. Audrey recognizes the look on her face as she walks in all too well. She’s feeling raw, vulnerable, and Audrey knows that feeling, although at least the worst thing she and Rachael did in their video was make out; Emma and Will’s video was full-blown _sex_ , so Emma can’t even pretend that she’s not totally on display right now.

 

“Emma!” she says, seemingly jolting the other girl out of her thoughts. Audrey can see it in the dullness of her eyes; she’s clearly trying to distance herself from the taunts of their classmates, but it’s not working as well as she’d probably hoped. 

 

“Hey,” Emma murmurs, but her heart’s not in it. Her eyes dart around for a second, like she’s not sure whether she’s got the courage to look Audrey in the face. And anyone else might not understand, but Audrey bets she could guess 90% of the thoughts going through Emma’s head right now — because last Tuesday, that was her. _She_ was the one with her heart (or more like her ambiguous sexuality) forced onto her sleeve, the girl who people stared at in the hallways and talked about in the bathroom. 

 

“Been there. Totally sucks,” she says softly. Audrey’s not sure if it comes out as reassuring as she’d wanted it to — because maybe it sounds like she’s just trying to remind Emma of the video that was partially _her_ fault — but it seems to make Emma relax a little.

 

“Yeah. I just feel so exposed,” Emma confesses.

 

Audrey can’t help it — she says the snarky thing that’s been lingering in the back of her mind all day. “There _is_ a little bit of cosmic justice at play here.” But Emma chuckles, doesn’t cry or storm off, so Audrey adds, “That which doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger.” They start moving, round the corner near Emma’s locker, and it’s another flashback to the old times. They used to walk to their lockers together every morning. Now that friendship, a far more innocent thing compared to whatever they have today, feels like a distant memory.

 

“Yeah, or it just takes its sweet time destroying us,” Emma scoffs back. Audrey laughs lightly, enjoying their banter, but they’re quickly interrupted by the walking embodiment of Douchiness, aka Will Belmont, and so Audrey walks off before she says something she’ll regret. It’s a familiar feeling, though, Will coming in between them.

 

Because doesn’t one of them always end up leaving over Will anyway?


	16. the save

When she’s sitting in an interrogation room 24 hours later, Emma’s the first one she calls. It makes her heart pound and her hands go clammy, because if Emma sees what’s on that SD card, she’ll never think of Audrey the same way again, but it’s her only choice. 

 

Emma saves her. That night, she walks out of the police station a free girl, and it’s all because Emma came through. Audrey doesn’t have words, wouldn’t know what to say and doesn’t think she’ll have to come up with a response until tomorrow, but then she’s crossing into the parking lot with her father and hears a familiar, “Hey.” And it’s Emma. _Of course_. _Not only saves your ass, but then also shows up to talk to you about it._

 

Audrey looks up at her dad for permission, and he gives her a quick nod, although Audrey knows she’ll have to make it fast. She walks Emma’s way, her dad heading to their car to give them some space. He’ll never know how much she appreciates that.

 

“Can’t believe you did that,” is the first thing out of her mouth, and Audrey instantly regrets it because it kind of makes her sound ungrateful. Emma’s got her hands tucked in her back pockets, the way she always does when she feels nervous, and Audrey wonders if there’s something the other girl’s not telling her.

 

“Are we even yet?” Emma says with a small smile, and Audrey’s heart pounds in her chest, because it’s absolutely _adorable_ and, shit, that word shouldn’t even be in her vocabulary when it comes to Emma Duval.

 

“Getting close,” she replies wryly. Emma just chuckles slightly, eyes suddenly trained on the ground, and Audrey’s gotta ask or it’ll eat away at her forever. “Did you watch it?” 

 

Emma looks at her for a second before responding, like she’s weighing the pros and cons of lying about it, then answers, “Yeah.” Audrey’s chest tightens, and all she can do is bite her lip and glance away, because now Emma probably thinks she’s a monster. _Maybe she wouldn’t be wrong._

 

“Why did you keep it?” Emma says softly. 

 

Audrey takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself a little, even though she’s panicking at the thought of having screwed up their fragile maybe-friendship already. “What you don’t see is after I knocked the camera out of her hands, Rachael took my keys and threw them out of the window,” she tells Emma. “I was so angry, I was searching the brush like a lunatic. But… But she stopped me from doing something terrible that night.” 

 

Emma doesn’t say anything, lips forming something that’s not quite a smile but also not a frown, and Audrey worries for a second that maybe she’s implied something awful, that maybe she’s suggested she might not have killed Nina, but that she could do something just as horrific to someone else. So she quickly adds, “I kept it to remind myself never to lose control like that again. And…” She trails off, a dull ache blooming in her chest as she remembers the double meaning of the video. “And it’s one of the last videos I have of her,” she finishes after a beat. “I guess I couldn’t let it go.”

 

Emma seems stricken by this, and the pain in Audrey’s lungs makes her wish she’d never asked for the destruction of the video, because _yeah,_ maybe it’d incriminate her, but it hurts to know that she’s lost one of her last remnants of Rachael. But then Emma reaches into her back pocket and offers Audrey something, a small plastic case that’s transparent enough to reveal the tiny black card inside. Audrey forgets how to breathe for a second as Emma murmurs, “You don’t have to.”

 

Words can’t explain how much this gesture, as easy as it probably was for Emma (seeing as she’s not the one who could’ve gone on trial), means to Audrey, so she doesn’t use them. Instead, she wraps her arms around the other girl and leans into the first hug they’ve shared in a year. It’s a little awkward and all too brief, but Emma’s hands gently rub her back and it really does feel like _home_. 

 

Audrey’s the one to pull away, knowing that her dad’s waiting for her in the car, but she doesn’t forget to whisper, “Thank you,” before walking away.

 

She doesn’t try to explain to herself the wetness on her cheeks or the tingling in her arms. Instead, she just holds the SD card close and smiles. 


	17. the lie

Will Belmont dies several days later in a cruel trap set up by the killer to _break_ the girl she loves, and though Audrey’s not sorry to see him go, she is sorry to see the utter shock in Emma’s eyes and the trembling in her hands.

 

Emma returns to school the next Monday, and Audrey could scream at Maggie Duval for letting that happen, because she is so _clearly_ not okay. From the moment Emma walks in, it’s already obvious, in the way she keeps her arms tucked close to her chest, protecting herself instead of letting them fall to her sides. It’s there, in the fake smile she puts on when Audrey calls out, “Emma, hey!” It’s in the hollow cheeriness of the _hey_ she chirps back, and how she seems surprised by their inevitable sticking around. 

 

“Um… you’re here,” Noah says slowly. 

 

“I am,” Emma responds, giving him one of her classic _why are you stupid?_ smiles, the one that Audrey feels like she perfected after joining Nina’s group. That being courtesy of the deceased.

 

“We just didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Audrey cuts in, trying to smooth things out. Noah’s clearly not doing Emma any favors with his awkward way of handling grief (she loves him for it, though). When Emma doesn’t say anything, just broadens her smile and makes her dimples pop out, Audrey continues, “I stopped by to check on you.” That’s true; she’d stopped by several times, actually, but Emma had been ‘asleep’ for every attempt. After the third try, Audrey’d given up, accepting that either Emma really was sleeping off the trauma or just didn’t want to see her (and she hadn’t been sure which idea hurt more). 

 

“Yeah, thanks. My mom told me,” Emma says. The bright melon hue of her jacket makes Audrey’s eyes throb.

 

“Emma, there are no words,” Noah tries. “I mean, I’m sure there are, but I can’t think of any to—” 

 

He’s going south, so Audrey helps him out. “We know what you’re going through,” she tells the other girl. “And we’re here if you need us.” 

 

Emma closes her locker a little too loudly, and it nearly makes Audrey jump out of her skin when she turns around, a serene smile on her face, and says firmly, “It’s okay. I’m okay. Really. I’ll see you in class.” 

 

She walks off before Audrey can stop her, but it’s quickly become glaringly obvious that nope, Emma Duval is not in the _least_ okay.

 

And the worst part is, Audrey doesn’t know how to help her. 


	18. the worry

Her worry for Emma doesn’t dissipate throughout the day, and only increases the next afternoon when she and Noah catch Emma reading an article about insomnia and paranoid delusion in the library. “Em?” she says. Audrey’s heart breaks when the girl gasps loudly in response and slams her laptop shut.

 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Audrey brushes a hand against Emma’s arm as she and Noah go to sit across from her, and the fact that Emma doesn’t jerk away at her touch does help a little bit.

 

“Uh, no, it’s okay,” Emma replies, that false cheeriness creeping into her voice again. Her blouse is a pretty shade of blue, but it still doesn’t take away from the bags underneath her eyes.

 

“Whatcha working on?” Noah chirps, perhaps a little too loudly, as Emma draws her arms closer in to her body. _Like a shield_ , Audrey thinks.

 

“Uh, just a research project,” Emma says. 

 

This is bullshit. Audrey can’t let Emma go on with this any longer. She needs help, even if it’s help that Audrey and Noah may not be able to give. “For the psych class you don’t have?” she quips. 

 

Emma doesn’t like this, and she stares at Audrey with blatant panic in her eyes. “I don’t know what you mean,” she laughs nervously, and _damn_ it’s painful to see her like this, so scared and shifty.

“Emma, are you self-diagnosing on the Internet?” Audrey asks softly. 

 

“Bad idea. That always either leads you to schizophrenia or something terminal,” Noah chimes in. It lightens the mood a little bit, and Audrey gestures at him to say _yeah, he’s right_ , because she’s playing bad cop and he’s taken on the role of good cop, and it looks like right now Emma’s gonna be more comfortable with good cop.

 

“You know what, guys, it’s not a big deal. I’m just not sleeping,” Emma mutters, eyes meeting Audrey’s and then quickly focusing elsewhere.

 

“And seeing things?” Audrey retorts. Emma looks like she’s just been slapped, so Audrey makes her tone gentle as she says, “Emma, we’re your friends. You can talk to us.” 

 

It works. Audrey sees Emma’s barriers breaking down as the girl bites her lip and murmurs, “I just, um… I just keep replaying what happened. You know, seeing everything. Seeing Will.” 

 

Suddenly, Emma’s trauma doesn’t seem so scary. Because Audrey’s been seeing frayed nooses and bruised throats in the corner of her eye for weeks, and so this is now familiar, something she can _work with_. “Honestly, I’m not surprised,” she reassures her friend. 

 

“Seriously,” Noah adds. “Your brain needs time to process the shock, to try to make some sense of it. That’s not paranoia, it’s _survival_.” 

 

Audrey and Emma seem to flinch at the same time at this, because Noah just broke the cardinal rule of speaking to someone who’s been traumatized and is having symptoms like this: you don’t use the actual _word_ for what they’re going through, not until they feel comfortable with using it themselves. You leave that to the therapists and the doctors, but as a friend, you stay _far_ away from that word.

 

“I’m not paranoid,” Emma says slowly.

 

“No, I know. T-that’s what I was saying, that you’re the opposite of that,” Noah stammers. “The Internet is alarmist. You’re totally normal.” 

 

Audrey’s just opening her mouth to cut him off when Emma gets up. “I gotta go,” she whispers, and then she’s gone.

 

And now Audrey’s worried again.


	19. the evidence

Not even a week later, they’re at a Halloween dance like five people haven’t died and everything’s just peachy, and everyone says that Seth Branson (or Palmer) is in custody so they should feel _safe_ now, but Audrey doesn’t feel even remotely close to that. She lacks answers, and she lacks the mountain of proof that the police should’ve found by now. What she does have is a video of Kieran Wilcox wrapping his arm around a _very_ drunk Nina, and a sneaking suspicion that there’s more to Kieran than they may think.

 

But she’s here anyway, because Noah’s here and Emma’s here and where else would she be? Alone at home to get murdered? No thanks. The lace on her steampunk-princess costume itches and her corset’s just a _little_ too tight, but Audrey has no intention of leaving anytime soon. She needs to watch Emma, because of course the poor girl’s fallen for another potential douchebag (although if Kieran really did kill Nina, Rachael, and so many others, _douchebag_ would be kind of an understatement), and it makes Audrey’s skin crawl that the guy even has his hands on her. They’re dancing, all cute and couple-like, and it’s a little sickening, cuz Audrey can’t stop thinking about ceiling fans and stab wounds and wondering how the same hands could be gripping Emma’s waist so tenderly.

 

It makes her wanna puke, actually. All over him.

 

Kieran slips away, presumably to get them some drinks but maybe to go knife another innocent, and Audrey takes the opportunity to sit by Emma on the couch. Her friend’s pretty tonight, even in the harsh black wig and red lipstick that Audrey’s never seen her wear before, and it’s weird to think that just a week ago, this same girl was spattered in the blood of their classmate. Her ex-boyfriend, part of that Emma-Will-Kieran love triangle. It just makes Kieran being the killer click even further, Audrey thinks.

 

“Hey, you guys were great,” she jokes as she walks up. “Extremely retro.” 

 

Emma laughs, and Audrey hasn’t seen her dimples that deep or her smile so genuine in a while. “Thank you.” Then the other girl’s smile falters, and she turns her body to face Audrey, actual regret seeming to spread across her features as she adds, “Oh, I’m sorry that I didn’t call you yesterday.”

 

Audrey swallows hard. They’d met yesterday at the coffee shop, before Emma had gone to talk to Branson about the murders, and Emma had promised to call her afterwards, but in the craziness of it all, it makes sense that she’d forgotten. And maybe it’s for the better, because yesterday they would’ve just been wasting their time discussing Branson; now that she’s fairly certain it’s Kieran, this opportunity is the perfect chance to let Emma in on it gently. “Actually, uh, now’s probably a really good time to catch up,” she says.

 

“What’s wrong?” Emma asks, brows furrowing in concern.

 

“I went through Rachael’s raw footage, a lot of it, trying to find a connection to Branson.” Audrey pulls her phone out of her corset and brings the video onto the screen. 

 

“And did you?”

 

“No,” Audrey confesses. “I found something else.” She passes the phone to Emma, praying silently that what she’s about to see won’t hurt her too badly. She wants Emma to be safe and recognize that Kieran is a likely suspect, but she doesn’t want her to go through any more pain than she already has.

 

Emma’s eyes scan the screen, then widen as the camera focuses on Kieran’s face. “What is this?” she breathes.

 

“Nina and Kieran, yeah. Rachael shot that. Kieran saw her do it,” Audrey explains. “Em, if she was the only witness to see him with Nina…” 

 

“Audrey, Mr. Branson is the killer, okay?” Emma cuts her off, moving the phone into her lap. “The DNA is gonna prove that.” When Audrey just stares at her, shocked that Emma’s denying the evidence right in front of her face, Emma continues, “Kieran and Nina were at a bar together, so what?” 

 

“The night before she _died_ ,” Audrey retorts. “Emma, you can’t trust him.” 

 

Emma doesn’t meet her eyes, instead looking over at something else, and Audrey follows her line of sight to see that Emma’s glancing over at Kieran, standing by the bar and making a call on his cell. “Why not?” Emma counters. “I trusted _you_. We’ve all been caught on tape doing things that look bad.” The words sting, even if Audrey knows Emma might not have intended them to come off as harsh as they do. _I trusted_ you _. What is that even to say? “Yeah, Audrey, you’re basically the least trustworthy person on the planet, and even I found it in myself to trust you!” Am I really that awful, that she’d rather believe in Kieran’s innocence because she trusted me once than to listen to the evidence?_

 

“Hey,” a low voice booms from behind them. It’s Kieran, walking up with his and Emma’s drinks. “Looking good,” he says, smiling at Audrey.

 

It makes her blood boil. “Yeah, you too,” she snaps before storming off. 

 

She was stupid to think Emma would ever value her opinion again, anyway.


	20. the argument

Five minutes later, she sees Emma slipping into the back, hands over her head like she’s going to cry, and in spite of herself, Audrey follows her in. Cuz it’s Emma, and she has to make sure she’s okay. Even if she’s mad at her.

 

“Hey, are you okay? Where’s Kieran?” 

 

“He left. I messed things up royally,” Emma says, unable to hide the tears in her voice as she places her hands on her hips and stares at Audrey almost accusatorially. 

 

“Or maybe he left because he did it,” Audrey insists, against her better judgement.

 

“Audrey, I know that you want justice for Rachael—” Emma starts. She’s talking in that patronizing, _don’t-you-dare-ruin-my-fantasy_ tone, and Audrey hates it. She doesn’t let her finish.

 

“Yeah, I do,” she hisses. “And he is the only person I know of who would’ve wanted her gone.”

 

“So you want me to believe that he killed everyone else?” Emma cries. “Nina, Tyler, Riley—”

 

“And Will.” Audrey knows that was petty of her, a low blow in a fight that probably wasn’t fair to begin with, and the tremble in Emma’s voice as she responds to it makes her cringe.

 

“Audrey, I can’t believe that he did this any more than I could believe that _you_ killed Nina,” Emma says through gritted teeth.

 

And that hurts a little bit. Because there’s Emma, throwing in her distrust of Audrey again, and it feels unfair of her to say when Audrey’s just trying to _save_ her.

 

“Then I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one,” she growls. “You two have fun together.” And there she is, storming out of Emma’s life again, but the echo of Emma’s words in her head doesn’t feel good, so she makes sure to throw over her shoulder, “I’m crashing Brooke’s and getting drunk!” 

 

Cuz fuck it. Emma clearly won’t care if she puts herself in a slasher-worthy situation anyway.


	21. the disappearance

An hour later, she has looked the killer in the eyes and practically begged them to hurry up already and _kill her_. An hour later, she has felt the burning tear of a knife in her arm and wondered why she’s not feeling it in her throat. An hour later, she stumbles onto Brooke’s patio and collapses into the sofa as Noah’s shaking hand rubs at her back (not as nicely as Emma used to). 

 

Mango fills the air, and Emma gasps, “What happened?” as Audrey shrugs off her vest and tries to ignore the hot, sticky blood pouring down her arm and temple. Funny thing is, it still doesn’t feel half as bad as the argument with Emma had earlier.

 

Noah mumbles something about nearly braining her, and Audrey says, “The killer was here. He killed Grayson and then he came after me.” She groans as she presses the jacket into the wound on her arm, hoping it’ll slow the bleeding for now, and finds herself wishing absent-mindedly that Maggie Duval were here, because that woman’s special brand of motherly comfort would be _fucking great_ right about now. 

 

“How are you even alive?” Noah breathes.

 

“I have no idea,” she responds, attempting but failing to not shiver at Emma’s arm hovering just inches from the small of her back. “I saw the mask and then everything went black.” 

 

“You and Brooke are lucky to be alive,” Jake declares, carrying in the petite girl that Audrey has so grown to like in these past few weeks. “Leaving survivors is not exactly this guy’s M.O.” Brooke’s deathly pale and bleeding from several places to boot, and a hard little pit of worry forms in the bottom of Audrey’s stomach.

 

“I don’t know. You survived. Twice,” Noah comments. There’s an accusation not-so-hidden in his tone, but Audrey doesn’t care about that right now, is just trying to feel out if the bump on her head is going to be ER-worthy like her arm.

 

“Yeah, being a hero,” Jake snaps. 

 

“God, can someone please call a doctor so _I_ survive?” Brooke groans, holding a piece of gauze to a particularly nasty wound on her hand. 

 

“Cell phones are still out,” Noah reminds her.

 

“There’s a land line in the kitchen.” 

 

Jake mutters a comment about how 1996 that is, and Kieran mentions something about a first aid kit ( _asshole, it was probably you_ ), but all Audrey can focus on is how Emma’s getting up and saying she’ll call her mom for help. She knows Emma too well, can tell the girl probably has something stupid planned, but before she can get up to stop her, a wave of pain rolls through her head, making her wince and stay exactly where she is.

 

Kieran hands Noah a gun, but it’s Noah, so if it’s not virtual of course he doesn’t know how to use it. Audrey takes it from him, the smooth handle of the gun slipping slightly in her bloodied fingers, and sets it down on the couch.

 

Then it’s just the four of them, her, Brooke, Jake, and Noah. And the gun. The gun, of course. And Noah’s telling her to keep putting pressure on her wound, Brooke and Jake are wrapped up in their own little world, but Audrey’s not paying attention to any of them.

 

She’s watching Emma. Watching, as Emma puts down the phone and sprints out of the house like it’s on fire. Watching, as Emma becomes a blur of gold and white, running towards something. Watching, as Emma disappears into the forest.

 

And Audrey knows what she has to do. “I’ve gotta go to the bathroom,” she says, slipping the gun into her jean pocket, and then she rounds the corner and disappears into the forest, too.

 

Because she’s not going to let Emma go this time.


	22. the end

Things seem to happen in kind of a blur when you’re saving the girl you love.

 

Audrey remembers running up to the dock and seeing Piper. She remembers catching a glimpse of the scarlet red soaking Emma’s white shirt and a similar kind of red then obscuring her vision. She remembers the sound of the gun going off ringing in her ears, but she has only a vague memory of her own fingers pulling it out.

 

But then Emma’s crying out, “ _Audrey_ ,” and Audrey’s rushing to her side, Maggie groaning in pain a few feet away. “Oh my god, Audrey, thank you, _Audrey_ ,” Emma’s sobbing out. 

 

And all she can do is make a stupid joke. “Bitch talks too much.” But she doesn’t know what else to say, because her stomach’s rolling, she’s tasting bile in her throat, because _she brought Piper here for a documentary and then Piper murdered seven people_. 

 

And then there’s another blur of motion as a gloved hand grasps at the wood of the dock, and the sound of a firing gun rings through the air again as Emma ends things _for good_. 

 

“Nice shot.” 

 

“They always come back.” 

 

_Yeah_ , Audrey thinks. _Just like you. You always come back._

 

And now she knows, without a doubt, that Emma always will. 


End file.
